Will I Ever Make It Home
by lilabut
Summary: Nothing could desecrate Jacob's profound procedure, his eyes fixed on the small piece of greyish cardboard pressed between his thumb and index finger – thinking with his fingers, feeling it, trying to know where it belonged. Jacob tries to get over Bella


A beta-ed version.

* * *

**W i l l. I. E v e r. M a k e. I t. H o m e.**

Will I ever make it home  
To the place I recognize  
Far from here and where I've been  
And all the places that I've been shown  
Will I ever make it home  
Can they keep me here for good  
Where I hardly know a soul  
And my fear keeps going on

Will I ever make it home

_Ingram Hill_

o o o

All he did was keep his hands busy. His hands, his fingers, each nerve, each muscle, each bone – they were moving, grasping, curling, stretching, clenching, typing, pulling, pushing…

To Jacob, his hands had always been a part of his brain, the one important body part and the one you cared most about and would sell your soul for instead of living without it.

For most people it was their eyes and sight, for some their legs and arms and for many their hands, just like Jacob.

But he understood his case quite differently.

In contrast to all the others, he did not fear losing his hands because he feared he could not handle his life without them – it was the fact that without his hands he had no _escape_ from the thoughts in his head, the swirl of memories, hopes, wishes, fears, dreams…

For every thought he wanted to erase from his mind, Jacob had a specific motion.

When he was angry he used to do very delicate work, preferably with cables and electricity. It calmed him down because he had to pay extra attention and really had to concentrate. Being sad meant destructive work; hammering, beating, rasping. Dirty engine work was necessary whenever he was upset, housework when he was excited.

He had a _motion_ for every _emotion_.

_Every_ emotion.

But what he felt now was new. It was different and confusing. It was one that required a new motion.

Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock

The only sound that penetrated his sacred act was the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the opposite wall. An urging sound, upsetting and maddening.

But nothing could desecrate Jacob's profound procedure, his eyes were fixed on the small piece of greyish cardboard pressed between his thumb and index finger – thinking with his fingers, feeling it, trying to _know_ where it belonged.

It was how he spent every single evening these days, mostly working until late night or early morning, trying to postpone sleep for as long as his body allowed him.

He just sat there cross-legged on a folded yellow blanket on the floor of his sister's old room, light switched on, clock ticking, mind empty. He was working on a jigsaw of Leonardo Da Vinci's _Last Supper_. Half of the picture was finished – a strange half-moon around the actual catching part of the image: the table.

Everything that could be seen at the place where the rest of the picture should have been by now was the big white carton he had placed underneath, an old television carton, probably.

For three weeks he had been working on it but still most of the thirteen thousand plus pieces were still unused, separated, sorted by colour and shape with devotion – but they were not used, not really.

In theory, the puzzle was finished in Jacob's head. He knew where the pieces belonged. He had watched them for days and weeks now, every single night and for every single night they had been all that went through his mind, through his hands. If they were they human he could easily be considered their psychotherapist.

But putting them _together _seemed too final to him, an act of cruelty. They were not ready for that.

There was no perfect picture to piece together, after all.

Tick Tock Tick **Knock Knock** Tock Tick **Knock** Tick

Jacob allowed no distraction to interrupt or disturb his newfound peace. His mind filtered the change of sound, the information _someone is knocking at the door_ slipping through his consciousness like he had done the first time his mother had forced him onto skates one winter long ago.

Tock **Knock** Tock Tick Tock **Knock Knock** Tick

It was probably just Billy again, coming to ask him if he wanted to join him for dinner, if there was something on TV he would like to see, if he could drive him to a bonfire (_and stay)_… the usual thing.

_Tick __**Knock Knock**__ Tock __**Knock**__ Tock_

Now it really started to strain Jacob's nerves, slowly pulling him back into reality, out of his numb world which consisted only of chopped cardboard and colors.

**Knock Knock** Tick **Knock** Tick **Knock**

"What?" he yelled with good emphasis on the anger that flooded through his veins and he was grateful that the puzzle was definitely a delicate task. He did not want to be angry with his father, as well like he was angry with the rest of the world – especially himself.

He did not turn his head when he heard the door open slowly, the lock clicking almost inaudible, the bottom scratching the wooden floor beneath before stopping to move.

"I'm not hungry," he muttered under his breath, eyes still fixed onto the grey piece of cardboard in his fingers, _just another broken piece_…

"That´s good, because I don´t really have any food to offer."

It just _slipped_ then, slipped through his fingers. The puzzle piece. Landing on the floor, Jacob's fingers now oddly held in the air, as if he was trying to hold a string of braided air together.

Very slowly, he turned his head towards the door, afraid that moving fast would blur his vision, banishing the picture before he could really focus on it.

But it was clear as the blue sky had been today, flawless.

There she stood, the reason for Jacob Black to piece together _The Last Supper_ every single night of his young life.

Bella Swan stood half in the hallway, half in the room. Her arms were crossed in front of her stomach, head flipped slightly to the right, cheeks flushed with a rosy touch of pink and her feet moving uneasily from left to right, back and forth again.

She smiled, shyly, weakly, as if she felt ashamed to smile right now. It was almost as if it felt inappropriate to her, like in school when you get your test handed out and you finally have that ´A` you have been working on so hard and you cannot be _happy_ about it because your best friend next to you failed once again.

Minutes passed, _maybe years_, before Jacob remembered that staring was rude, even in this situation, and so he blinked twice forcefully, hoping that this was real and not a weird hallucinating because he slept so little these days.

"Bella?"

All she did was nod slightly, releasing her arms out of their braid across her middle, slowly walking towards Jacob.

_This is not real_…

The moment Bella sank down next to him, facing him with such a fragile yet determined smile, Jacob knew that nowhere in his head did he possess the gift to conjure something like this. Something so absolutely _real_.

"Since when do you like puzzles?" Bella asked, her voice on a _matter-of-fact_, _smalltalkish_, _nervous_ level. Her eyes flickered between the mass of puzzle pieces on the ground and the mass of pieces she left behind and called _Jacob Black_ now.

No answer left Jacob's lips and he just watched, watched every single movement Bella made and every intake of breath she took. He felt a slight tingle on his skin whenever she exhaled, their closeness enough for her used air to reach him.

Still in awe and disbelieve, Jacob tried to memorize everything this situation offered him. It was like middle-aged women during sales, grabbing everything they could as long as possible and within reach.

"What are you doing here?"

Bella's eyes dropped downwards, facing the floor, her knees only inches apart from Jacob's now.

"I can't," she whispered, her pale hand reaching out slowly to rest on Jacob's warm, russet knee, bare since his cut-offs had pulled up his thigh during the evening.

"I can't… leave _you_."

"You _could_ a few weeks ago."

It stung. Both of them. Jacob knew that he had every right in the world to be mad, and Bella knew she deserved harsh words. Hell, she deserved to be thrown out on the street and left in the upcoming rain for the rest of her pitiful days.

"I know. It was a mistake."

"And this isn't? Whatever this is, anyways."

Bella sighed, softly brushing her thumb across the skin on Jacob's knee, admiring the soft yet firm touch. Her mind was playing tricks on her – _wondering if he was ticklish_. It just felt so _natural_ to touch him.

"This is me coming back to _you_. This is me choosing _you_. This is me choosing _life_. Life with _you_. Even though it is a mistake, as well. There is no right choice for any of us."

"I don´t – what?"

"Listen, Jake. If I leave you behind and… go with Edward, become a vampire, become immortal, I will eternally miss you, miss what I gave up and regret not choosing you, not taking that path. But it is the same here. If I leave Edward behind and choose to stay with _you,_ I will miss him. I would regret not choosing that other path. But here is the crux. I will forget, I will come to terms with it – and I won't have to miss for an eternity. I have one life I can devote to _you_. And I want that. I can live broken and lost for a while, but I can't be like your puzzle here _forever_ – unfinished, incomplete. So please… forgive me."

_Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock_

Jacob turned his head towards the puzzle on the ground - incomplete, shattered and broken - and he saw the lonely grey piece in the middle of the white carton.

Reaching out his arm, he grabbed the piece carefully and instead of looking at it for a few more hours, hoping it would find it´s way alone, he put it into the place it belonged straight away; he had figured out where it had to be yesterday. But _now_ – now was the time to complete things he had left unfinished up until now.

"Forgive you for making the wrong mistake?" he asked with a mock grin, turning his face back towards Bella who waited anxiously for a response, for some reaction.

Her eyes were teary and wet, reddish. But when she saw the determination in Jacob's eyes she knew there was no more need for anxiety.

"Yeah…"

"Well, then. Let's get this finished," Jacob said. Resting his left hand on Bella's which still held onto his knee, he intertwined his fingers with hers, holding on tightly, as his right hand reached out for the neat piles of still homeless puzzle pieces.


End file.
